CLACK CLACK, CLACK CLACK

The tray carts are out of the section, and the trustees are done cleaning after breakfast, so the section is now open. Even though I'm lost in my thoughts, I'm still trying to go back to sleep. I'm not a morning person, and I don't know what to do with my time here anyway.

My celly, on the other hand, has things to do. Instead of closing the cell door, he opens it all the way, locking it into the open position.

I'm just starting to fall asleep when I hear the most annoying sounds in the world: scripted arguments between stupid people.

Someone is playing The Jerry Springer Show on the TV right outside my cell.

I never spent much time paying attention to the bleeding television. It's so under-stimulating and my imagination is too needy.

Before I got locked up, I was always confused about how a show like Jerry Springer could exist, let alone be so damn popular. Now I'm trying to sleep, and these idiots arguing are being forced into my brain.

I try to tune it out, but the stupidity of what I'm experiencing consumes my mind. Deep within me, a melting pot of emotions has been brewing over the past five days: the lack of control I have over my life, the refusal to accept this as my new reality, the anger, confusion, and fear. The fact I killed a man. The fact my woman left me. The fact I lost everything. I can feel it all coming to a boil, and I'm about to explode. And now I have to sit here and listen to this stupid fucking show.

No. This is something I can change. I don't have to put up with this.

I throw my blanket off, ready to storm out of my cell and demand whoever is watching TV change the channel, when the copper shouts:

"Medications!"

The speaker on the wall crackles to life. "Knight, vitals check."

Everyone just coming into jail is coming off drugs or alcohol, so every morning for the first ten days we get our vitals checked.

My momentum to explode is immediately halted. The cork gets loosely shoved back on my bottle of emotions as I get in line to see the nurse.

There are plenty of inmates waiting for the pills the jail hands out like candy, so by the time I reach the nurse's cart, all my previous adrenaline has dumped. I feel a strange combination of numbness and despair.

The nurse wraps the blood-pressure cuff around my arm, and it starts to tighten. As it squeezes tighter and tighter, the feeling spreads to my neck, as if a noose is being pulled.

Thump thump... thump thump... thump thump.

I start to feel my pulse echoing off ten thousand tiny mirrors inside my skull. It feels like I'm being consumed again. I can't see straight. Then panic sets in.

The nurse looks at me with concern and asks, "Cillian, are you alright?"

"Alright? Alright? How can I be alright?" I manage to get out between short breaths. "You just called me Cillian. No one calls me that. Why did you call me that?"

My legs are Jello and my breaths are getting shorter and shorter.

"Breathe, just breathe," I hear her say in the distance.

But I can't catch my breath. I start hyperventilating and tears pour out. I feel myself spinning out of control, and my legs give way.

I fall to the ground, taking the blood-pressure cuff and a dozen other things from the cart with me. Somewhere in the distance, a voice calls out for backup as my cries turn into sobs. Snot bubbles out of my nose, and my chest convulses as I beg myself to wake up from this nightmare.

But there is no waking up. I'm falling deeper and deeper into the abyss.

Out of the eternal darkness I feel a soft touch on my shoulder and hear a compassionate voice say, "You need to breathe."

Some part of me listens, and my lungs fill with one full breath. I hold it in as long as I can, then release it. The panic passes and I regain awareness of my surroundings. I notice I'm surrounded by two nurses, one female CO, and five coppers dressed to kill, ready to put me down if I start getting aggressive.

Aggression is the last thing I feel. As I come to my senses, I’m a hollowed-out shell, embarrassed by the scene I just created. Everyone is watching me again, and I can feel God roll His eyes as He turns his back on me to finish His game.

Yes, I can stand.

Yes, I can follow in handcuffs to wherever.

Yes, I'll wait here in a turtle suit.

Yes, I can spend the rest of the day in a padded cell where you can watch me and make sure I don't harm myself.

No, I don't have an urge to masturbate.

Yes, I will take the pills you give me.

Yes, I am A-Okay.

Yes, to whatever you want.

Just leave me alone.

End of Chapter 1

The Scalpel is The Knife of knowledge.